Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
All the little emptiness of love!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, is wetter water, slimier slime! And there (they trust) there swimmeth one who swam ere rivers were begun, immense of fishy form and mind, squamous omnipotent, and kind.
Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?
There are only three things in the world, one is to read poetry, another is to write poetry, and the best of all is to live poetry.